Corrupted Fantasies
by Tornado-Miasma-chan
Summary: What Otabek experienced with Yuri was captivation of the purest kind. An injury and surgery later, though, things aren't as full of sunshine as they had initially promised one another. OtaYuri.
1. Chapter 0

**a/n: Just a random angsty little OtaYuri idea thing that came to mind.**

 **~Chapter : 0 ~**

He soared off the ice into a graceful twirl, his body suspended in a breathless moment of perfection before touching back down. His blonde locks flow about freely and there is a look of genuine grief on his face as he transitions into yet another jump.

The crowd roars.

His fangirls clutch at their chests as the Russian Fairy dances.

Yuuri Katsuki is in complete awe at the transformation.

Victor's eyes never leave the nineteen year old's form, his fist unknowingly clenched at his side. He remembers how four years ago he'd asked the young boy to show vulnerability. But the look of sheer desperation on Yuri's face only made the knot in his throat intensify.

The music cuts short, the blond raises his hands up towards the air, heaving for air in his ever familiar Agape. His eyes catch a figure at the far corner of the stadium, catches the tiger patterned hoodie just as it turns it's back on him and recedes away. In the next moment, the young Russian fell on his knees, a full-on trembling and sobbing mess-much like when he had finished his grand prix routine all those years ago.

The crowd roars, blissfully unaware of the weight on those slender shoulders of his.

As the slumped figure rises himself up and makes his way off the ice with bitter tears in his eyes, not even JJ's calling him a Princess caused him to retaliate.

The results were announced, people thumped his back, he didn't resist when Victor and Yuuri pulled him into a suffocating group hug and uncharacteristic to him, he let his lips pull into a false smile. The faintest tug at the corner of his mouth that seemed so misplaced that it made Yuuri shiver.

Yuri Plisetsky, at that moment, only felt one emotion- numbness.

"The Russian punk... seems so different, now! Shouldn't he he be yelling and picking fights all over the place?"

"..."

"Well, he should atleast **try** to look happy on thr podium!"

"Maybe, he's still in character? From his performance? It can be hard on young people, especially when they portrayed it so perfectly."

"What was it, the theme?"

"Loss."

""Oh..."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

For the most part Yuri liked to believe that theirs was a simple friendship. It didn't require him to go out of his way to call or send texts at odd hours in the day or to be at the others' beck and call every waking or sleeping moment- like Viktor or the Katsudon pig had led him to believe.

In retrospect, maybe it was his poor contact circle that made him averse to the whole concept of 'friendship' to begin with.

But this was a welcome change of pace. Otabek rarely ever texts him. When he does, though, its short and curt sentences, with no emoticons and the occassional photo of leather jackets- sometimes with prints so rad that Yuri finds himself staring at the picture with starry eyed wonder.

To the average person, it might seem oddly depersonalized but for Yuri, he can't help but snicker to himself, thinking how it was so like Otabek- how he seemed so uninterested but never failed to reply.

He liked calling though- about once every two weeks- when both of them would be free from practice. It was a natural ritual. It wasn't until the third month that Yuri found himself sitting on his couch, staring at the phone clutched in his hand, a light pink on his cheek. 76:54, the screen blinked.

He had NOT just spent more than an hour talking away happily to someone that wasn't his grandfather. And it wasn't as if Otabek was the most enthusiastic individual. So... that meant it had been him, Yuri I-don't-give-a-s***-about you Plisetsky who done most of the talking... And for Yuri, it shook what little perception of the world that he had. Jolted his bearings and turned him upside down.

The next time Otabek's name shone on his phone screen, Yuru was hyper aware. His head almost spun at how deep Otabek's voice was, how it resonated so very deep in his ears. He tried to speak towards him normally, recounting most of the nothings that had occured the past week.

Try he really did.

But then... What exactly was normal, again?

"Yura, what's wrong?"

He tries to suppress a shiver as he hears his name roll of the older man's tongue, his eyes fluttering to a close.

"Yura?"

"It's nothing!" His voice is higher than he would have liked and he curses himself for it.

"Hmmm." Came the reply. Clearly Otabek didn't believe him, but like he always did, he made it a point not to pry.

A spell of silence followed. Neither spoke nor did they hang up.

Yuri fiddled with his hair, burying himself deeper into his couch as he huffs into the receiver, "Say something..." His pout is clear in his voice. He is never this way, never this spoilt with anyone... And on some level he is scared but at that moment all he wanted was to keep hearing the other person speak.

"Something." Echoed a deadpan voice.

Yuri snorts at that, an action that slowly tumbles into full blown laughter. Was he laughing at the seriousness with which Otabek delivered his answer or at his own hopelessness, he wasn't sure.

The other side of the receiver is dead quiet, but Yuri can somehow tell that the straight laced man is smiling. Smirking- if not actually smiling.

"You're wasting precious money on these silent cross country calls, Otabek." The blond pointed out once he was calmer. He faintly remembers how he'd been told that it was okay to address the Kazakh a little less formally, but the young Russian hadn't quite got around to actually doing it. It was more out of a certain sense of awkwardness rather than the age gap. After all, he'd never actually been this close to someone.

"Am I?" Came the answer with no particular bite.

Yuri frowned at his knack for avoiding these things, so he deeped his voice, "Do you think calling me is a waste? Do you or don't you?"

"Cheeky little brat."

And with that, Yuri is laughing again, his eyes crinking at the edges. He hears the faintest chuckle from the other end- a sound just so barely there. It is a strange and carefree sensation that envelops him, dusting away softly at his own doubts, his overbearing concerns.

"Before I forget. Will you be free for a ride next week?"

Instant happiness shot up through every fiber of Yuri's being and his voice betrayed it ever so shamelessly as it chirped, "You're coming to Russia?!"

"For a few days, yes."

And with that, the last shred of his lingering insecurity evaporated as he fell into stupor, falling back to his normal self pre-worry, "My grandfather has this amazing fusion Piroshki- remember the one I told you about? You should definitely try it! Though his back has been horrible lately, so I guess you'll have to make do with my cheap imitation version. And you know there's this AMAZING-"

After about half an hour, they were through recounting their trivialities.

Just as Otabek mutters his good night, Yuri finds himself interceding, "And the answer?" He knew he was being vague but he knew the Kazakh was sharp enough to pick it up.

"Maybe I'll tell you when you finally call me Beka. You know it's a futile struggle."

Yuri found himself flushing at that. "B...b..."

Otabek hummed at that, "Go on, kitty."

If ever steam could gush out of one's ears out of embarassment, this would have been the perfect time for said mechanism to kick in - whether at the thought of being likened to a kitten by the Kazakh or how Yuri kind of sort of liked the way the word rolled off his tongue was another matter entirely. For now, he settled on exploding, ferociously, "D..Don't call be that... Baka*!"

"Doesn't count." Came the faintly amused answer from the other side.

"See you next week, Baka*."

"You take care of yourself too, Yura."

And the line goes dead.

Otabek closes his phone, his lips tugged in the closest thing to a smile as he could get.

It wasn't a waste though, him calling the young Russian. Because for the most part, Yuri was an overexcited teen who threw curses at everyone who came within a stone's throw from him. And strangely enough, the Kazakh could see... could feel the effort the Russian put in to not let his self defences kick in and push the other away.

And Otabek, he appreciated it, from the bottom of his once stone cold heart.

It really never would be a waste...

Ever...

Right?

/Chapter 1 end!~

*Yeap, the Japanese word for idiot. As close as the punk got to cursing this chapter.

A/N:,I know the violent little kitty seems OOC, but for some reason I imagine Yuri more innocent, happy and strangely melancholic when dealing with _Otabek (From what little airtime they have together.) Its like they have two sides to the way they deal with each other- the confident way the both of them shouts 'Davai' at each other and then how they are at the restaurant- Yuri being clearly excited and sparkling and Otabek himself enjoying Yuri's company._

Flimsy justification being said. This is the first of two fluff chapters before the angst kicks in.

See ya next read.

/

 **And remember.**

 **For every Review, Yuratchka, clad in cat ears will strike a cutesy pose and meow.**

 **Yuri** \- Never in a million years will I $#%√+±=!


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